


Stuck In My Own History

by elyssblair



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, M/M, Sentinel/Guide Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyssblair/pseuds/elyssblair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Sentinel/Guide Bonding AU) Tim is a temp Guide with no intention of ever permanently bonding. When the team tracks down a fugitive Marine Corporal, they’re surprised to find it's a newly online Sentinel. One who wants to claim Tim as his Guide. McGee's instincts to help Damon war with his desire to remain free of bonding, forcing him to examine his choices and decide what he really wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *written for ncis_bigbang
> 
> Check out the lovely [art](http://sexycazzy.livejournal.com/170389.html) by sexycazzy!!

 

Gibbs paused outside the gym, head cocked and listening to what was going inside. After a minute, he signaled that the fugitive Marine they'd been tracking was inside. Tim took up position next to Tony on the opposite side of the door while Ziva covered Gibbs's back.

In a PTSD induced fugue, Corporal Damon Werth was attempting to rescue a man he'd already saved once. 

"You two wait here." Gibbs ordered. "Cover the exits. Ziva and I will go in."

Tony opened his mouth to protest but the two Sentinels walked into the gym before he got the chance.

"'You two wait here,'" Tony mimicked. "He's always leaving us behind. We're Guides, not girls."

"Uh, Tony, he took the girl with him," Tim couldn't resist pointing out the obvious.

"You know what I mean, probie."

He did but, as usual, Tony's bent toward the dramatic and self-indulgent was unfair. The Sentinel's first instinct was always to protect the Guide, but Gibbs never let that get in the way of a case.  If the Boss left them behind, it was because he thought the Marine would respond better to the warrior bonding vibe he and Ziva had.

Of course, they had cornered a highly trained Marine in the midst of a psychotic break. Werth was in an extremely dangerous and unpredictable state.  It made sense for the Sentinels, genetically programmed fighting machines, to face him first with the well-trained Guides covering the escape route. After all, it wasn't like Gibbs had told them to wait in the car.

Tony opened the door a crack and Tim silently gesture that he should close it but the Tony just slapped at his hands until he gave up. With an eye roll, Tim deliberately moved to the opposite wall and leaned against it with his arms crossed. He let his posture express his displeasure at Tony's open flaunting of orders.

Tim should know better than to argue with DiNozzo about being left behind by now.  Tony always wanted to be in the middle of the action. And by Gibbs side.  They were a permanent pair, bonded since an NCIS case took Gibbs to Baltimore and he met the brash, mouthy detective. As much as the Sentinel needed to protect the Guide, the Guide was drawn to defend the Sentinel. The stronger and older the bond, the more ingrained those instincts were.

Tim didn't have quite the same pull with Ziva. They were a temp pairing despite having been partnered for two years.  Compatible enough to work well together but absolutely zero pull to bond with one another. Ziva was content with waiting for her perfect Guide to come along eventually. Tim, however, intended to be a temp for life. He liked the variety and the freedom. At least, that's what he told people. Some days, he even believed it himself.

"Hey, looks like they've got it under control," Tony whispered over his shoulder. "Let's go."

"Tony, Gibbs said…"

Too late. Tony pushed through the door, ignoring protests and common sense. Tim started to follow but paused on the threshold when he saw the glare Gibbs leveled at them. Then his feet moved without a decision from his brain. His shields thinned while he searched for something he couldn't name.  Confusion and hurt and fear pulled at him from outside and he struggled to regain control. After a moment, he managed to thicken his shields but the odd tug remained, though no longer urgent and unrelenting. He forced himself to stop next to Tony and take a deep breath.

Corporal Werth, calm and still when they entered had tensed and tracked their every movement across the floor. Tim shivered under the unwavering gaze.

Then all hell broke loose.

#

The Marine exploded into motion, pushing past a stunned Gibbs and Ziva, his speed making Tim's vision blur. In a blink, Werth was there, right in front him, hazel eyes lasered in with an intensity that left Tim breathless and confused.  Strong fingers wrapped around his wrist and tugged.

Tim had enough time to register how gentle the hand was, considering Werth's size and obvious lack of sanity, before the Marine pulled him forward. The thin olive t-shirt covering the wall of muscle he found himself plastered against did nothing to disguise the searing heat or the rapid fire thud of the heartbeat under his cheek. Something buzzed along his nerves, an electricity that ran from where Werth held his wrist straight to a primal part of his brain. Then the Marine ducked his head and pressed his nose behind Tim's ear, inhaling and growling low in the back of his throat. For a hysterical second, he had the urge to tip his chin up, offer his neck and invite the stranger even closer.

Then Tony barreled into Werth, pushing Tim off balance. The hold the Marine had on him jerked him to a halt before he hit the ground but  twisting pain and pop vibrated through his wrist. A cry tore out him before though he tried to bite it back, knowing Tony would tease him for it later. 

Werth let go immediately and turned to face the threat, head-butting DiNozzo and knocking him to floor. Gibbs flew to his Guide's defense, Ziva only a step behind.

The fight happened fast and Tim couldn't track it through the pain. When the movement slowed, Tony sat nearby, cradling his nose, Gibbs was getting back to his feet and Werth had Ziva pinned against the wall. The rest of the people in the gym had backed up and out of the way, watching with stunned amazement. 

As usual, Tim's temp Sentinel showed no fear and didn't broadcast any, either. Instead of the focused search for the next weakness to exploit he'd normally sense from her in situations like this, he felt an uncharacteristic curiosity within her experienced calm. Then he felt her flare with surprise, her eyes widened while her aggressive stance relaxed and she went limp in Werth's grasp. An unexpected maternal lilt colored her voice when she spoke with a formality rarely used.

"Sentinel, are you in distress?"

Shock flowed through Tim, his own and the echo of Tony's.  Gibbs's didn't seem surprised so much as confirmed. How the hell had they missed that? Even as Tim tried to sift through the layers of Werth's aura, the pain, confusion, exhaustion and paranoia swirled around too chaotically to reach much beyond the surface.  That same something that had tugged Tim into the room, that had made him want to offer his throat, now pushed at him to go to the Sentinel. To wrap him in shields and warmth and give him a comfortable place to anchor himself.

Tim ground down on his teeth, cradled his wrist and forced himself to stay still. 

The Marine's grip on Ziva loosened and he closed his eyes when he finally answered her in a low growl. "Yes."

"Everything hurts? Sounds? Lights? Your clothes?"

"Yes." This time the answer was a whimper.

Ziva started to whisper, so soft only another Sentinel could hear. An old trick that would lead the untrained Sentinel into a zone out.

The Guide in Tim wanted to scream, to go to Werth's aid. Everything in him pushed to protect a Sentinel from the fugue state. But the agent understood the necessity. Werth was too unpredictable in his current condition. Unconsciousness was the best they could do until they could get him the help he needed.

Still, Tim started to take a step forward. To do what, he had no idea, but Gibbs held up a hand to stop him. Then the Sentinel stepped forward to catch the slumping, unconscious Marine.

#

Damon searched for the smell, the sweet, earthy smell. And the heartbeat that had soothed and eased him. It was there, a faint whisper of delicious scent he wanted. The darkness around him condensed and the hazy of disassociation began to clear and pull him back to the pain of consciousness.

Wrong. The scent was old and stale. The wrong heartbeat wore it. He came back to himself, a snarl on his lips and eyes flashing open to glare at the interloper. She held up her hands but did not flinch. Behind her a man, familiar from the dreamlike moments before, stepped around her with an implacable expression.

"Easy, Sentinel. You're safe."

The tone was sharp, firm and touched with compassion underneath steel command. Strong arms helped him to sit up.

Relaxing automatically, Damon obeyed without thought but his senses continued to search for more hints of the scent and heartbeat that he truly wanted. 

"Where is he?" His voice was a rough, raw growl, nearly unrecognizable to his own ears.

"PFC Stone is safe, Sentinel. Has been since you saved him in the desert. How long have you been online?"

Damon blinked at the words trying to makes sense of what he was hearing. He wasn't online. He was a dud. The first male in three generations on his father's side who hadn't manifested a full-blown Sentinel gift by the time he turned seventeen.

Except…

"Everything's a blur after the attack. I just… they had my team… my men.

"Your tribe," the woman said with a sharp, knowing nod. She was the one who carried the other scent and Damon fought unfamiliar instincts. A few deep breaths and he managed to stay sitting and civil.

"Yeah," he acknowledged. "I have to, had to, get them back."

A frown pulled at his lips as he tried to untangle the memories of the past few weeks but it was a tight knot of images and smells and instincts and sensations that seemed to be looped. Like he'd done and saw and experienced the same things over and over again.

"You saved them. Brought them back. Best guess, the danger to the tribe brought you online and sent you feral. Since you weren't in a Sentinel unit, they misdiagnosed you with PTSD."

Damon turned over everything in his head. The words began to click and slot into place and the world he'd lived in for the past weeks began to make sense. He was a Sentinel. A feral, online Sentinel. Elation and humiliation battled for supremacy until a memory pushed them both aside.  One bright, shining spot, one soothing presence cast a light in the darkness. A presence that he craved with everything inside of him. If he was a Sentinel, then…

"Where is he? Where's my Guide?"

"They've started a Guide search but—"

"No," Damon growled. "My Guide. The one from before. Who smells like earth and maple. The one whose scent is on her."

He jabbed a finger at the woman and both his visitor went silent and a little tense.

Finally, the man swore and rubbed the back of his neck. The woman closed her eyes and muttered, "Oh, dear."

#

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god."

As soon as he stepped off the elevator, Tim found himself ambushed by Abby, arms squeezing off his air and Caf-Pow freezing his side as she chanted into his ear.

"We're fine, Abs." He step back so she could spread his arms. "See? Whole and healthy. Fine."

"Speak for yourself, McStoic."

Tony pushed past Tim and let Abby engulf him in her enthusiastic fussing.

"Oh, your poor nose, Tony. Sit down, sit down. I'll send Palmer out to get those lemon muffins you love."

She pushed Tony into his desk chair and hopped up on his desk without releasing her death grip. DiNozzo smirked over at Tim.

Rolling his eyes, Tim flopped into his own chair. Despite his reassurance to Abby, his sprained wrist  _hurt_. And he didn't dare take the painkillers until he was home, away from the press of so many minds, even if the doctor did claim they were Guide-safe.

"Where's Gibbs?" Tony asked.

He'd whined the entire time they were at the clinic getting treated. Normally, a Sentinel wouldn't leave an injured Guide's side. But a Sentinel in distress, especially what Werth had suffered for weeks, undiagnosed and feral with no treatment, had taken priority over their relatively minor injuries.

"He and Ziva are still at the Sentinel-Guide Union, in the shielded ward with that poor Sentinel."

"Poor Sentinel?" Tony huffed in exasperation. "Did you see what that 'poor Sentinel' did to us? He took down two fully trained Sentinel-Guide pairs."

"Tony," Abby used her stern voice, then sighed.

"I felt the same way when I heard you two were at the SGU clinic. I mean, he attacked and hurt members of my tribe. I wanted to go rip him apart with my bare hands." Abby's fingers curled into a claw to emphasize her point before she dropped them back into her lap.

"Then I found out what happened to the guy. I know what it's like to be unbonded. To have no one to turn to when the world goes all Wizard of Oz Technicolor." She paused to slurp from her Caf-Pow.  Tim knew it was to cover the stab of pain and sadness her unique genetic makeup caused her. She couldn't even fine a serviceably compatible Guide to serve as a temp. "I can't imagine coming online and being feral and having no one even notice. Just shove you in a psych ward and forget you."

She poked a finger into Tony's shoulder. "So, yeah, poor Sentinel. And you better find some of that empathy you Guides are supposed to have because I'm betting Gibbs is pissed about the treatment of a fellow Sentinel who is also a fellow Marine."

"They've started a Guide search but Ziva said there's a complication." Again, she paused to suck down more of her caffeine laden drink. Abby and Gibbs were the only Sentinels Tim had ever met who could not only tolerate large amounts of caffeine but seemed to thrive on it. "She didn't say what. They're hopeful to find him a temp by the end of the week. In the meantime, the best they can do is keep him in a shielded room and teach him control techniques."

A sharp spike of hot emotion ripped through Tim and a snarl nearly escaped before before he bit his lip and called it back. He swallowed hard to get his heart and his breath back under control. It took a minute for him to realize he was jealous. He thought about the buzz, being held against the beautiful, honed body, the way he'd wanted to lean in when the Marine had scented him.

Tim twisted his chair away from Abby and Tony and the piercing look the forensic scientist was giving him. The one that meant she'd caught all the rapid-fire changes in his physiology. Thankfully, she distracted DiNozzo from noticing anything by starting an argument about the last episode of _America's Next Top Model_.

It was just attraction to a well-built warrior and danger-fueled adrenaline reaction. Not jealousy, really.  Just… envy, maybe.  It certainly wasn't his territorial instincts reacting to the news that there was a Guide-search underway.

The sound of the elevator saved him from panicking.  Gibbs stepped off first, moving through the doors as soon as they cracked open. He headed straight for Tony. Just because his minor injury didn't take precedence, didn't mean the Sentinel hadn't been focused on getting back to his Guide.

Gibbs was less demonstrative, and gruffer, than most Sentinels, probably from coming on line so late in life. Still, the need to reassure himself the Guide was safe was deeply ingrained and the Gibbs stroked his fingers lightly over DiNozzo's face, careful to avoid the tender nose.

It always amazed Tim that fidgety, impatient Tony was able to sit still for the restrained grounding and reconnecting ritual.

Of course, the second Gibbs's tense frame relaxed that nearly imperceptible fraction, Tony's smug smirk was back in place.

"Don't worry, boss. The doc promised this wasn't going affect my handsome face at all. Just adds a little character. Maybe a little roguish charm." He tilted his head up and struck a pose. "What do you think?"

The head-smack was unusually light. "I think you should be more worried about the screws Werth knocked loose, than your ugly mug."

Ziva followed Gibbs and sat on Tim's desk. Her stare was hard and a little frightening as she looked him over but he was use to it. They'd been together for two years but they were only mildly compatible. As a Sentinel, and part of his tribe, she was concerned about him but there wasn't the urgency of a bonded pair.  Ziva was incredibly stable for an unbonded Sentinel, so they rarely even had to connect for her to ground. The pairing suited them both perfectly.

"How about you, McGee?"

He looked up to find Gibbs assessing him.

"Uh, fine, boss. Just a mild sprain." He held up the wrapped wrist to show him. "Be good as new in a few days."

"Good. Take the rest of the day off." His attention already shifting back to Tony. "We'll worry about the paperwork tomorrow."

Tim watched Gibbs usher Tony to the elevator. The twinge of envy was old and familiar. As much as he didn't want a Sentinel in his life permanently, it might be nice, once in awhile to have some to go home to. Someone to fuss and care. He knew not all bonds were like that, though, and he wasn't willing to risk becoming nothing more than an accessory.

Unsubtle throat clearing brought his attention back to Ziva.

"How's Werth?"

He hadn't intended to ask. He didn't need to know. The case was over.

"He is fine, for now. But he needs a Guide."

Squashing unsettling emotions, Tim fought to keep his voice and demeanor disinterest. "They're already starting a Guide search, I heard."

"Yes. They managed to get a baseline profile this afternoon." She paused, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. "There is a… complication."

"Heard that, too." Tim swallowed hard, unnerved to be so worried about a complete stranger in a way he couldn't shake. "It's not like Abs?"

"No. His profile is within normal range. It is not so unusual that he's been deemed unmatchable." Again she watched him and gauged his reaction as he spoke. "He believes he has already met his Guide, though."

The knot that had been tightening in Tim's stomach since the conversation began turned to stone and became a heavy rock in his gut.

"Oh? That should make the search easier then."

"Unless the Guide is not willing to be matched in anything but a temp pairing. He will need a much higher compatibility match in order to accept a temp Guide. It will be a much more difficult search."

Tim shook his head, silently denying what Ziva was telling him.

"McGee. He is in pain. So much that he slipped back into a zone despite our best efforts to help him. He has been suffering alone and unsupported for weeks. Online, untrained and feral.  He is still on the edge. You could help him, stabilize him so that he can endure until a match can be made. You do not need to bond with him. Just help him."

"People will expect me to. You know how the SGU gets about a Sentinel in distress. They're not supposed to push anyone on the non-bonding list but the need to protect the tribe, especially those in distress, is stronger than rules and regulations." He dug the heel of his uninjured hand into his forehead.  "I don't want to be a Marine. You've read his file. It's all he's ever wanted to be. I'm not giving up my life and career."

Ziva actually flinched. "Not all Sentinels expected the Guide to sacrifice. If that is the only reason—"

"It's not." His face was stone still when he faced his partner. "It's not the only reason and I'm not going to bond. Ever."

She held up both hands in defeat. "All right. I will stop. I just thought I owed it to both of you to let you know."

Tim sat in his chair for a long time after she left staring at his empty desk and trying to shut out his thoughts.

#

Tim had meant it when he told Ziva he had had no intention of going to the SGU. When he left NCIS, he was exhausted and aching and wanted nothing more than his bed and the painkillers he'd been waiting hours to take.

Yet here he was leaning over the high counter of the nurses' station. Smiling a stretched, tooth-filled fake smile at the battle-ax nurse whose fierce frown could strip paint off walls.

"You are not on the list for the GSU search, Guide McGee."

"I know. That's because I'm registered for temp duty only and I already have an assignment. I don't get put on those lists."

"With good reason." If possible her glare got even more malevolent. "The Sentinel you're with now doesn't need you jumping ship. Sentinel Werth deserves more, as well."

Tim sighed at the suspicious frown aimed his way. His choice to remain temp-only was rare among Guides and many in the Sentinel-Guide community considered it an aberrant choice. Finding a bond mate was the primary motivation of almost every online Guide and Sentinel.

He leaned forward, hands pressed flat on the counter. "Look, I know I'm not what he needs, long term. But I know you haven't found anyone who is, yet."  He glossed over the fact that he'd hacked the SGU system to find out if Werth had been matched. "He is in pain and I can help. I soothed him earlier before Gibbs and David brought him in."

Which may or may not have been true. It could have been his scent and presence that pulled Werth back from the edge. It could just as easily have been the presence of the two stronger Sentinels. As new as he was to his senses were, the Marine could have easily confused his sudden calm in the maelstrom of being feral with the sensations of having found his Guide.

But the nurse's expression eased from fierce frown to a thin-lipped skepticism and Tim tried to look earnest.

"I may not want to bond but I'm still a Guide.  There is no way I can leave a Sentinel in distress when I  _know_  I can help." Which was how Tim justified this trip to the SGU to himself. It had nothing to do with the irresistible yearning that clawed at his gut.  Besides, maybe he'd find it was all a mistake. That Werth had been confused. That the buzz he'd had felt had only been adrenaline and physical attraction.

"Fine." The nurse huffed, her expression still stern and implacable. "But if there's no change in ten minutes, you will leave. Without argument."

The nurse glanced at the screen next to her. A special low-light night vision camera in the room to monitor the Sentinel darkened room.  On the screen, huddled in the large bed meant for a Guide to share with a distressed Sentinel, he looked smaller than Tim remembered.  Even in the green tinted monitor, his skin looked pale in stark contrast to the black crew cut.  Lines of pain etched hard shadows in his face.

Tim swallowed the fear. "If there's no change, I have no reason to stay."

The nurse led him to the shielded room, swiped her key card and gave him one last stern look before shutting the door behind him.

Tim took two steps, an instinctive longing dragging him forward before he caught himself and the panic set in. He forced a deep breath, trying to bury the instinctive longing. Biology and outdated primal instincts were not going to rule him or force him into anything against his will.

Resolved, he kept his steps slow, giving his eyes time to adjust to the darkness, and stopped when he could rest his hands on the bed, fingers not quite touching skin.

Werth's nose twitched. The head turned, hazel eyes snapped open and, for an eternal second, Tim felt like he stood on the edge of a precipice. An endless abyss that called to him, invited him to jump and never look back.

"Guide?"

Hope, longing, deep, unimaginable ache filled the single word and nearly brought Tim to his knees.  He wanted to bury himself in the Marine. Wrap himself around the strong body and take all of the pain away. Lose himself in the Sentinel.

Then he caught himself. Curled those urges into a tight ball and stuffed them down deep.

"Guide?" Werth asked again, reaching out tentatively, like a small child searching for comfort and Tim couldn't deny him.  He let his hand drift those last few inches and slid his fingers between the Damon's.

"Yes. I'm a Guide." Tim murmured as he watched the body relax. He could practically feel all fine senses locking on him as the Marine brought the joined hands to his lips. Eyes never blinking while they scanned him from head to toe. Nostril's flaring, head cocking slightly so he could still watch but neither ear was blocked by the pillow so he could absorb every sound. Werth's second hand came up to stroke over Tim's knuckles while his mouth parted, tongue darting out to taste the fingers at his lips.

Being known, being touched and tasted and absorbed by the Sentinel was intoxicating and Tim knew he had to get control back soon or he was going to lose it forever. If he didn't set ground rules now, the situation was going to spiral out of control.

"I'm a Guide," he repeated, trying to keep as much serious professional distance in his tone as he could manage. "But not a permanent one.  I just… I'm only here to help stabilize you.  Help you get control until they can find someone else."

Confused hazel eyes narrowed and the hands around his tightened. Not enough to hurt but enough that Tim knew he wasn't going anywhere until the Sentinel let him.

#

The pain, the overwhelming, unstoppable inundation of sensation had receded. He still felt fuzzy and slow and the words weren't making sense.  This was  _his_ Guide. His other half.  Smell. Taste. Touch. Sound. Sight. Everything. Everything about him resonated with Damon. Everything said  _mine._

 _"_ Why would I want anyone else?" His voice was thick and a little slurred and he could tell instantly it was the wrong thing to say. 

The hand in his went tight. His Guide's whole body went rigid, the smell of distress filled the room. Damon hadn't even known it had a scent until that moment. Pale eyes locked on his but his Guide was actually shifting back putting as much space between them as their clasped hands would allow.

"You need someone else because I have no intention of permanently bonding with anyone. Ever."

Cold spiked through Damon's chest. He opened his mouth to protest, to try to find words to charm or gently coerce the Guide into giving him a chance, but the pale eyes went hard and fierce before he could say anything.

"Especially not with anyone career military."

The rejection was a thousand icy thorns, his senses wobbled as the fear of a lifetime of loneliness swept through him. But then he saw the flicker of hurt, ancient and only half-healed, hiding behind the resolve. Saw the faint tremble and hint of tears and Damon forgot his own pain.  Wanted nothing more than to destroy whoever had dared hurt his Guide. 

Damon closed his eyes, trying to find his center like Gibbs had taught him. Colors swirled into sound, tangled with sense and he fought to block out the dizzying ache. Despite his best effort, a whimper escaped his lips.

The hand in his squeezed and Damon started to catch his breath. Started to find the ends of the thread to fight his way back out of the labyrinth of sensations.

Then the fingers tug, slipping out of his grip.

"Don't go," Damon was pleading and sitting up before he could force his eyes back open. But his…  _the_  Guide was still there, shrugging out of his jacket and tugging on his tie.   "Oh."

"Easy."

The Guide smiled, a little sad and a little tired but reassuring all the same.

"I'll stay for awhile. Just give me a sec. How are your senses?"

Again, Damon called on some of the quick training Gibbs and Ziva had helped him with before he succumbed to another zone out. He ran through a check just the way the older Sentinel had taught him.

"It's… too many colors for the dark room.  Skin itches. Smell and hearing are fixated on you." He bit his lip against begging for anything. Especially when he watched the other man take of his shirt. Strong through shoulders and chest, a little softer and smoother than Damon. Perfectly curved and incredibly tempting. The Sentinel wanted to touch. The man wanted to caress and explore. Watching him shuck the pants as well left Damon breathless and hard.

Then the warm, soft skin was sliding onto the bed with him and Damon couldn't help snuggling in. Pressing his face to the hot, sweet scented neck, wrapping his arm around and tangling their legs together. He knew the second the Guide felt his erection. The body tensed but then each muscle forcibly relaxed as if willed individually. Despite his resolve and discomfort, he was giving Damon all the skin contact he needed.

"I don't even know your name," Damon muttered against the neck, letting his lips press, his tongue dart out a tiny bit to taste as he spoke.

The tiniest hint of shiver quivered over the skin and Damon's hope continue to grow. Maybe, if he was patient, things weren't as bad as it seemed.

"McGee," the agent said, a little hoarse. "Timothy. Tim. Agent Tim McGee. Or Guide McGee."

Damon nuzzled again, letting his lips rest just behind the agent's ear before he spoke again.

"I'll just call you Tim, if that's okay." He let his mouth vibrate against the skin, smiling when the body against his shivered again and actually moved into him.

"And you can call me Damon," he added enjoying the moment for as long as it lasted.

His senses automatically centered, with no effort from him. For the first time in weeks, he felt normal. No pain. No overload. No need to crawl out of his skin or hide in a dark hole. Just sweetly, blissfully normal.

"Thank you," he murmured. The exhaustion of weeks of pain and torment crawled over him and his words were slurred and sleepy so he tried again.  "Thank you."

Tim's hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his head, brushing lightly over the bristly scalp at the back of his head. The soothing sensation lulled him until sleep overtook him.

"Anytime," Tim whispered as he drifted out. Before he lost out completely to dreams, Damon wondered if the Guide truly meant it.


	2. Chapter 2

Tim woke pinned under two-hundred pounds of Marine muscle.  He listened carefully to the rhythm of breathing, felt the pulse of blood under his hands. Once assured it was normal sleep and not a zone out, he relaxed for a minute into the body wrapped around him. 

It had been a long night.  After sleeping solidly for a couple of hours, Damon's nightmares had woken them both.  In the hazy dreamlike dark of the middle of the night, he'd stroked and soothed and helped the Sentinel through it. Then he walked Damon through the centering and grounding and meditating until he could get stable in a matter of minutes.

By the time they'd curled back around each, Damon was a stable as Tim could get him without bonding. Which meant that the Tim had done what he'd set out to do. He could leave at anytime. Instead, he let his hand slide over the back of Damon's neck. The soft bristle of close cropped hair tickled Tim's palm and the Sentinel relaxed further, sighing softly in his sleep. If they were to bond, Tim had no doubt the caress would quickly have become an unobtrusive grounding ritual.

Just like the syncing of heartbeat and breathing… Tim blinked and stopped breathing altogether. Their rhythms had synced.

It had taken him and Ziva months of paired meditation and training together before they'd ever gotten there rhythms to match. Even now, after two years of being paired, they'd only done it a handful of times.

Fuck. He had to go. Now. This was a slippery slope and he wouldn't let himself fall into that. With a cold sweat covering him, Tim called on training and skills rarely used. A gentle nudge on the tentative connection between them sent the Sentinel into a deeper, restful sleep. One where he would be undisturbed by nightmares or his senses. The Sentinel needed the rest, anyway. If it let Tim get away without having to see that disappointed, betrayed look he'd endured the night before when he denied being Damon's Guide, well, it was just a bonus.

Once he wiggled free and hurriedly threw on his pants and shirt, buttoning only half his buttons before reaching for his tie and suit coat.  Then he paused and sniffed at the jacket.  He couldn't smell anything but the Sentinel would be able to identify it for weeks from the scent alone.

Tim was fairly confident that Damon was stable, now, and well on the way to being able to center himself in normal circumstances. But he'd mentioned Tim's scent more than once while they'd been practicing.  Having something with his smell on it might help the Sentinel if things weren't normal.

Carefully setting the coat back on the chair, Tim turned and walked out, refusing to look back.

At the nurses' station, the same battle ax was still on duty, with the same fierce frown when stopped.

"He's stable and sleeping." Tim's voice shook and he cleared his throat in attempt to make it sound less raw, then slid his card onto the counter. "He should be fine until someone compatible can be found. But, just in case…"

He tapped the card once and stepped back. The nurse smiled, thin and little brittle, but a smile all the same. 

Tim nodded and then headed for the elevator. What he wanted to do was go home and go to sleep. But he had just enough time to get home, shower, change and get into work. He'd just have to steal some of Abby's Caf-Pow.

#

Cold drew Damon up from heavy lethargic sleep.  Skin that had been pressed to warm skin when he fell asleep now shivered alone. Even the residual heat on the sheets and the pillow had faded leaving them cool to the touch. The room was loud in its silence. No heartbeat, no soft sleepy breathing. Scent lingered in the air but not enough. Not nearly. He forced open heavy eyes already knowing he was alone in the shielded room and aching with the knowledge.

His Guide was gone.

His Guide did not want him.

Damon through his arm over his eyes and fought his body and his mind. Struggled to get the slicing blades of loneliness under control. Fought to keep his senses stable, his heart beating normally and his mind from going black with feral needs.  Tears slid out, dripping unchecked rivers but he managed to go through the checklist his G… the Guide had taught him.

Tim wasn't his. Wasn't likely to ever be. The sooner he accepted that, the sooner he'd be able to move on and get permanent control on his own. He doubted he'd be able to accept another Guide anytime soon. Not when he knew how it was supposed to be.

The sound of his door opening had him sitting up with hopeful expectation before he thought better of it.  Tim's scent, which had been faint in the room, wafting in. Mixed with the scent of another Sentinel.

When Ziva stepped through the door, alone, a low rumble started in his chest. Territorial instincts clouding everything but the need to challenge a rival.

She stopped immediately, door clicking quietly shut behind her. "Damon?"

Her voice was low but commanding, a senior Sentinel warning a fledgling but it did nothing to penetrate the fog of jealousy.

"Where is he?"

Voice still calm and uninflected, Ziva asked, "Who?"

"My Gu…" Not his. Never his again. The ripping unfairness forced a growl from him. "McGee. Where is Guide McGee? I can smell him on you."

"Ah. I am sorry. Because you were no longer feral, they did not require that I decon, this time. McGee is not here. You are smelling his scent on me."

" _Mine!"_ Damon was on his feet, teeth bared without realizing he'd moved.

Ziva held her ground and smiled a little, though she raised her hands away from her, fingers spread to show she intended no threat. "Relax, Sentinel. He is my temp, only. We are only moderately compatible. Not nearly enough for a permanent bond. I'm no competition for your Guide."

Damon forced his shoulders to shift down and back. Tried to force a smile but was pretty sure he only managed a grimace.

"Right. Of course. Doesn't matter. He's not mine. Apparently never will be." Flopping back in the bed, he stared up at the ceiling and clenched his teeth against the ache he was sure would never go away.  "I have to be the only Sentinel in history lucky enough to find his perfect match within weeks of coming online and unlucky enough to be rejected by him within hours."

She sniffed then. "Tim did come, then. I was not sure he would."

"Yeah, for awhile. He helped. A lot." He couldn't help smiling at the patience and the gentleness the Guide had shown him.  He'd actually half convinced himself Tim might feel the same driving need. Which was why waking up alone, without even a goodbye, had been such a kick in the teeth. "Then he disappeared. After making sure I understood there wasn't a chance. Guess I was just his good deed for the day."

Ziva stepped closer and laid a comforting had over his. "But he came.  He allowed you to anchor your senses in him. I was not sure he would do even that much. He has been adamant against a bond since I have known him. And you being military…."

She bit her lip and stopped abruptly.

"Why? He said the same thing to me last night. How can he hate the military and work for NCIS?"

"He does not hate the whole military. He is simply unwilling to be a Guide, temp or otherwise, for anyone in the military."

"Why?" He pleaded. He'd beg if had to. If he could understand, then maybe he could find away to fix it.

Ziva sighed and settled into the chair behind her. "I only know bits and pieces.  Abby knows more, of course, and she swore me to silence. I do not think she will mind, though, if I share it with you. She, more than anyone, wants Tim to be happy. And understands what it is like to live unbonded."

"Abby?"

"Sentinel Sciuto." Ziva smiled at his involuntary growl. "They are incompatible. Abby is unique. Incredibly smart, incredibly gifted and incredibly strong. She also falls so far out of the normal profile, she has been considered unmatchable. It is unlikely she will ever bond. She and Tim have been good friends since he first joined NCIS.  When he and I were first matched, she shared some of his background so that I could better understand his boundaries."

"Tell me what you can?"

She inclined her head. "His father is career military. A high ranking Sentinel in the Navy. He was already married when he came online. He kept his wife and had a nominally platonic bond with his Guide. At least, as far as his family and the public was concerned. Tim's mother, however was not fooled and she dealt with it by drinking. Apparently, the Sentinel McGee was unkind and apathetic with both his wife and his Guide, playing on both their affections and pitting them against each other. Having his pie and eating it too."

Damon snorted at her unintentional pun but decided not to bother correcting her. She glared at his interruption but continued when he flashed a contrite smile.

"He doted on Tim, his only son and presumed heir. Until he started showing signs that he would come online as a Guide rather than a Sentinel. Then he wanted nothing more to do with the Tim. Until he came online and was old enough to register. Sentinels came out of the woodwork for a chance to have Admiral Sentinel McGee's son as their Guide. And the Admiral handpicked several that he insisted McGee choose from."

Damon curled his hands tight in the sheets but managed to keep himself from vocalizing his anger and his frustration at his inability to protect his Guide.

"Tim was disgusted by the whole thing. After years of being ignored and watching his father treat his own wife, children and Guide with casual indifference, he suddenly had a master plan for Tim's life. And every Sentinel who courted him was military and seemed cut from the same cloth as the Admiral. He refused to register with the SGU at all when he first came online and put himself through MIT. Eventually, though, he couldn't ignore his Guide instincts or his need to protect the tribe. So he worked to get a job with NCIS and registered as temp only within the agency."

Damon was silent as he digested everything Ziva had said. He'd seen a few Sentinels like that during his tours but it was a complete anathema to him. Men and women who protected the tribe but stood outside of it. Like they had to shut off their emotions completely in order to control their senses. His father was a loving man who embraced his everything life had to offer. Especially his family and his Guide. Damon's mother was a good friend to the pair, who had willingly been their surrogate and had taken a large part in raising him.

Eventually, he faced Ziva again.

"The only thing I wanted growing up was to become a Sentinel.  So I could protect the tribe, like my dad. And have a Guide of my own. One just like my Pops. My father came online at fourteen. His older brother at fifteen and my cousins at about the same age.  My other uncle never came online. For three generations in my family, that's the way it went. Either you came online early, or not at all. So when I turned nineteen, I was sure it was never going to happen. I was never going to be a Sentinel. Never going to have a Guide."

He paused and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher next to the bed. 

"I could still protect the tribe though. The Marines gave me a chance to do that. To serve and protect to the best of my abilities. I didn't have a Guide, but I had friendships forged in battle." He took a long drink of the water, his throat dry and tight from the effort of holding his emotions in check. "But I am a Sentinel now.  And I've met my Guide. There isn't a mountain I wouldn't move for a chance to claim him. Besides, Sentinel training for the Marines is intensive. Those without a strong foundation or at least a highly compatible Guide do not make it.  I doubt I will ever have a strong enough bond with another Guide to stay in, anyway. Maybe I could still protect the Marines." His lips twitched up into a smirk. "How does one go about becoming an NCIS agent?"

She didn't smile back. "Choose carefully what you truly want, Damon. Even if you are no longer military, he is still opposed to bonding. It will not be easy."

"I'm a Marine. Easy isn't exactly what I look for in life."

She nodded. "Then my advice to you is patience. Do not pursue him but give him the opportunity to see you for who you are, without the posture of the Marines. You cannot change his mind but he may change it on his own."

After she left, Tim's scent continued to linger, driving Damon to distraction until he found the source. The Guide's suit jacket, carefully folded on the second chair tucked farther away than the one Ziva had used. Tim could have overlooked it in his haste to leave. But it seemed unlikely since it had been left with the rest of his clothes while he helped Damon gain control.

Could Tim have cared enough to leave it behind? To give Damon something to anchor himself in if he became distressed again?

Hope, a faint, pale spark after his talk with Ziva flickered, a little brighter in his heart. He curled up on the bad, jacket clutched to him, surrounded by the scent of  _his_  Guide and let himself drift back to sleep.

#

A frisson of electricity shot through Tim the second he walked into the bullpen, leaving his body innervated and the hair at the back of his neck standing on end. He recognized the sensation even though he couldn't see the cause.

Damon Werth.

It had been weeks since he'd helped the Sentinel. Whatever minor connection they'd forged should have faded by now.  Tim rolled his shoulders back and forced himself to keep moving forward. He would not run and hide from this. He was happy temping for Ziva. He was comfortable. He could, would, ignore whatever pull he felt for the Marine until it went away.

Even if his life had been bland and colorless since spending the night with Werth.

Damon was already turned, looking for him when Tim came around the back of the staircase and moved toward the knot of people hanging out by Ziva's desk. The new Sentinel had learned to shield his emotions from empathic senses but his face hid nothing as their eyes met. Longing. Need. Hurt.

Then the Marine covered it with a gentle smile before turning back to laugh at something Ziva said. Gibbs watched the brief interplay with lips twisted in an unreadable expression. He hadn't said a word about the situation and Tim knew he never would. Whether he agreed with Tim's decision or not, he was fully behind a Guide's right to choose.

As he got closer to Damon, the tension Tim had been carrying in his shoulders and back loosened like someone untied a knot in his muscles. Seeing an answering release in the Sentinel's shoulders made him scowl as he passed the group with a perfunctory nod.  The simple presence of another person should not have any effect on him and he would not give in to it.  Tim was not a slave to biology or chemistry or some higher power that directed his destiny and paired Sentinel and Guide.

He kept his back to the small group as he took care in arranging his desk and turning on his computer and whatever busy work he could find to hold his attention.

A throat cleared above them, drawing everyone's attention to a frowning Director Vance, who gave a deliberate glance to his watch.

Tony winced and looked at Gibbs with his best innocent impersonation. "Uh, boss, I forgot. The Director wants to see us in MTAC. Like, ten minutes ago."

Gibbs rolled his eyes, grabbed his coffee from the desk and headed up the stairs, an apologetic Tony trailing behind him rambling excuse after excuse for his forgetfulness. Damon stayed, talking quietly to Ziva. Even with his back to the pair, however, Tim could feel himself being watched.

Focusing hard to ignore the pull and sensation of the Sentinel, it took a minute for it to penetrate that the quiet murmurs behind him had stopped. A quick glance over his shoulder showed him that Ziva had disappeared and Damon was leaning against her desk, not even trying to hide his open staring.

"Why are you here?" Tim demanded, frustrated and scared by his own reaction to the Sentinel.

Damon tucked his thumbs in his pockets and slouched even more, a mocking smile ghosting over his lips.

"Wow, Guide McGee, it's nice to see you too. I'm feeling much better, thank you for asking."

Tim winced but refused to apologize. He might be frustrated with his own reaction to the Sentinel but Damon had to know it. There was no point in hiding it.

"You do look better," Tim said, trying hard not to appreciate how good the Marine looked in his tight t-shirt, faded jean, and leather jacket. "I assume, since I never got a call, you never had another emergency."

Damon blinked and stood up a little straighter. "Nope. All good.  Mostly stable now." His eyes dropped toward the floor and his voice softened. "Would you have come? If they called?"

"If you were in danger." Tim really did not want to have this conversation so he went on the attack, instead. "You don't look like you're in any danger now, so why are you here?"

"Can't a guy just stop by to say hi to friends and acquaintances?" His tone was flippant and the smile arrogant. Anger and frustration bloomed in Tim at the all too familiar cockiness. He'd spent a lifetime watching his father flash that same dismissive smile and too many months being courted by Sentinels cut from the same cloth.

Slamming his hands on his desk, Tim surged to his feet with a growl. "Look, I've been stalked by overeager Sentinels before and I'm not going to put up with it now."

The Sentinel's entire demeanor shifted right before his eyes. He came away from the desk all leashed power and readiness to defend, concern and protectiveness flaring beyond his shields. "Someone stalked you? Who? When? Did he hurt you?"

Tim's anger blinked away in surprise. Right. Overprotective Sentinel. Don't rile the territorial instinct.

"No. I didn't… I just meant that you can't stalk me. There are rules. I'm not interested in bonding and I've made it clear. The SGU will sanction you."

Damon sighed and his body eased back but Tim wasn't fooled. The hyper-aware way his eyes watched, the ready way his hands curled at his side said he was still on alert and ready to defend.

"I'm not. Stalking you, I mean. My enlistment is up and, well, even with more training and a long-term temp Guide, not many make it into the Marine Sentinel squad. So I needed to think about another career. I'm stable enough to start training and by the time I'm a probationary agent, I should have everything under control."

"Agent? As in NCIS?" Tim narrowed his eyes Damon's nod and bit down on the burst of hope, twisting it into suspicion.  "Are trying to get us assigned together to force a deeper connection?"

Hurt flashed before Damon scrubbed his eyes and shook his head. "No. I'm trying to respect your decision. I stopped by because Ziva and Gibbs offered to help me with training and meditation and stuff to prepare faster. Not to stalk you. I swear. Besides, I already have a temp assigned."

That should not have felt like a punch to the gut. But it did and Tim took a minute to catch the breath knocked out of him. Before he could speak, Damon took a step forward then stopped, keeping a couple of feet between them.

"I'm not doing this to make you uncomfortable. I would never… I just thought, that if you ever changed your mind, this would be easier…"

His mind went blank and his heart thumped hard while Tim tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Tried to sort out what he was feeling, what he wanted to be feeling, what he should say.

Then Ziva was back, calling Damon. "I have found an open meditation room. I have some time now, if you'd like to learn those techniques."

Damon stared at Tim for a second longer, then stepped back, turned and flashed a smile at Tim's partner. "Yeah, that would be good. Meditation does not come naturally to me."

He started to follow her out of the bullpen, pausing only once to look back. "See you around, Guide McGee."

Then he was gone and Tim tried very hard to ignore the hollow, empty feeling gnawing inside him.

#

The second the door to the shielded meditation room locked behind them, Damon slid down the wall until his forehead rested on his knees.

Reaction after reaction shuddered through him. The anger he'd felt at the unseen threat to Tim. The rejection, yet again, at the hands of his Guide.  The momentary elation Damon felt simply to be in the presence of his Guide. To sense his Guide react to him.  The brief brittle hope of Tim's silent reaction to his declaration.

It washed through him in waves and his senses shifted from high to low and back as he fought for control.

"Are you all right?"

Ziva squatted next to him, carefully not touching, keeping her voice low in case hearing was a problem.  Damon nearly had a handle on the worst of the fluctuations before he spoke.

"I have no idea. Did you know he was stalked?"

"I have heard. It was before he joined NCIS. While he was at MIT. Some of his father's picks did not take no for answer and did not believe he was serious about the non-bonding choice." She sighed and he sensed her own anger and need to protect. "No one would dare try it now. They would have to deal with me. And Gibbs."

That cut deep. That he had to depend on others to protect Tim. That he couldn't… "Promise me you'll keep him safe. No matter what. Promise me."

"Of course. He is a Guide. He is my tribe. I will always protect him."

"Right." And she would always be allowed to.

Silence followed and Damon took the time to practice his breathing exercises until the white room no longer looked zebra striped to his eyes.

His Guide would be safe, that was all that matter. He could be patient. He could wait. He had no choice.

Because the temp they'd given him was good, she was helpful but it was nothing like being with his true Guide. And he would never settle for a bond with anyone less.

#

Tim's heart hammered as he watched the Sentinel walk away. He actually found himself shifting his weight to follow, hand lifting slightly to reach for Damon.

Instead, he flopped back into his chair, scrubbing his fingers over his face and through his hair.

What the fuck?

He didn't need this. He'd made his decision a long time ago and he wasn't about to change it now because sad hazel eyes looked at him like that. Except, something ancient and primal wanted to.  The need to protect the Sentinel wasn't talked about nearly as much but it was just as deeply etched in the Guide's DNA.  More, though, than that was the differences Tim was trying not to see.

Yeah, Damon had the military self-assuredness Tim had always hated in his father. But Gibbs had it too. It didn't mean he didn't care deeply about his tribe or that he wouldn't sacrifice everything for those he cared about. Gibbs hid his compassion beneath a rock hard layer of gruffness. Tim was beginning to see that Damon hid his behind the cocky smile. 

And he wasn't military anymore.  In fact, he was working to get a job at NCIS. Not only would Tim not have to join the military, he'd get to keep the job he loved.

Damn it. What the hell was he thinking? He already had the job he loved and no one expected him to give it up. The Sentinel wasn't doing him any favors.

Tim was not falling for soft words and chemical instincts.

He'd already had all the reminder he needed of why he'd made the decision not to bond.

After the night spent curled up in the SGU ward with Damon, Tim had known he needed to do everything possible to bury the temptation of going to the Sentinel. Everything imaginable to shore up his resolve to remain free of tangled emotional bonds. 

The second he'd walked into his apartment that morning, he'd called his father. Thankfully, the confidentiality of the SGU meant not even his father knew about his potential match with Damon or the mess he'd made of it.

In the ten minute conversation, the Admiral had been condescending and belittling, demanding and insulting. After listing all of Tim's shortcomings as a son, he'd started in on his responsibilities as Guide. It was the familiar lecture on how his choice to remain temp only was insensitive and selfish. How he was not fulfilling his potential. How he was betraying their bloodline and Sentinel-Guide community on a whim.

Ten minutes had been all that was necessary to remind Tim exactly why he'd made the decision not to bond.

He would never allow himself to fall into a trap that would leave him tied to a man like his father forever.


	3. Chapter 3

Tim grumbled to himself on the way back up to the bullpen, pissed at Tony for sending him on a wild goose chase. He didn't know what the purpose of the prank was but he was already thinking of ways to get even with Tony.  The elevator dinged open and Tim stormed out only to stop abruptly. Energy, familiar and yet missing from him for too long, zipped along his skin and buzzed in the back of his head.

Damon paused in mid-laugh, body taut as he turned, eyes locking on Tim. His crew cut had grown out in the months since Tim had accused him of stalking. Tim itched to run his fingers through, to see if it felt as silky as it looked. To see if it soothed the Sentinel the way rubbing the stubble of his crew cut had.

"Fuck," Tony muttered, looking guilty and sheepish at Gibbs's sharp look. "I thought he'd be gone another hour."

He knew Gibbs and Ziva and even Tony had been mentoring the Sentinel but they'd all been very careful to keep it separate, to make sure Tim didn't accidentally run into him.  He'd gotten the feeling that particular thoughtfulness had been at the direct request of Damon but he refused to be charmed by it. Apparently the fool's errand had been Tony's attempt to keep him out of the office today.

It took several long, thudding heartbeats before he could force his eyes away from the gorgeous sight of the dark haired Sentinel. Only to fall on the petite woman pressed up against his side. All curves and buttery blond hair and bright smile she murmured something that pulled Damon's attention to her. Away from Tim. Her hand drifted up rub the precise spot Tim had been daydreaming about.  Then Damon smiled at her and leaned down to delicately sniff her hair.

Tim broke.

His heart slammed hard, his breath stopped, caught behind the wedge of need and ache and loneliness that he'd been ignoring for weeks. Every drop of courage he'd ever possessed vanished in the face of the torture of meeting his Sentinel's Guide. 

The second his panic started, Damon's head snapped back up and he was pushing past the blond.

The rest of the team belatedly started to move as well, various looks of concern and confusion slamming into him.

Escape. Tim had to escape before he made an even bigger fool of himself. Stepping backwards, he frantically pushed buttons until the steel doors closed on pleading hazel eyes.

#

Tim was being assaulted by the blaring music rolling out of Abby's lab before he even realized where he'd ended up in his agitated flight from the bullpen.  When he walked in, she was gyrating wildly and singing at the top of her lungs to the wild, clashing beat.  The familiar ridiculousness of it soothed him in a way nothing else could have.

"Oh, Timmy!" She stopped mid-wriggle when she caught sight of his reflection her monitor. "Guess what I have for you? Blood. But not just any blood. The blood at the crime scene is special. Really special. If you—"

She stopped speaking abruptly when she turned and saw his face. Without looking away from him, the Sentinel reached over and slapped off the stereo.

"What's wrong, Tim?" Her soft concern reverberated in the sudden silence and he winced.

"Nothing," he muttered, not quite meeting her eyes. "It's nothing."

Her hands settled on her hips and she broke out her sternest disapproving glare. The one that even worked on Gibbs. Sometimes.

"Nothing? Your heart is thumping, your breathing is erratic and you scent is filled with so much confusing emotion I can't sort through it all."

He sat abruptly on one of the stools and dropped his head into his hands.

"Damon is upstairs."

"Oh, the graduation lunch. What are you doing here? Tony was supposed to get you out of the building so you didn't have to deal with seeing him."

"Graduation lunch?"

"Yeah, he finished the short course at the academy yesterday. The team was taking him out to celebrate. But, you get so edgy whenever anyone mentions him…"

"Yeah, well, it took me about five minutes to realize that Tony had sent me on a wild goose chase. I came back. And he was there. With his Guide."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously but her tone was deceptively mild. "So? You don't want him. He needs a Guide."

"I reacted badly, okay? I know it's not fair to be jealous. I don't want him to be alone. I don't want him to suffer. It's just, knowing and seeing are two different things."

Not all that much different, though, he silently admitted to himself. He'd kept himself awake at night for weeks feeling exactly this way after Damon had told him he'd already found a temp.

"You're an idiot, Timothy McGee."

He winced again, knowing he was finally going to get the lecture she'd been holding back since she first found out he'd refused a perfect match.

"Do you know what I'd give to find even a partial match?" She held up her hands before he could speak.  "I know it's not the same thing. But finding  _your_  Sentinel, the true thing and not just someone you're capable of bonding with… it's fifty-fifty.  I know you father is an asshole. I'm the one whose shoulder you drench after getting drunk when he calls you on your birthday. Not all Sentinels are like that and you know it. Gibbs, Ziva, me. Are we anything like him or the fuckwits he tried to pawn you off on?"

"No, of course not, but…"

"But what?"

"You're not military," he spit out the first objection he could think of.

"I'm not but Gibbs is."

She frowned.

"Was. Is. Once a Marine and all that. And Ziva was military in her contrary. Or close. A spy. Same thing, anyway. Do you think either of them would treat you like your father treated his Guide? Does Gibbs treat Tony that way?"

"No, but…" he fumbled unable to think of anything to say.

"But you think Damon would?"

"I don't know!"

Frustrated and confused, and hating that Abby seemed to have his number, he dropped his face into his hands.

"You haven't really taken the time to find out. You rejected him based on things that you saw as a kid. But you've had twelve years to observe that your father is a rare dickhead."

She inhaled deeply, then slid a hand under his chin so he had to look at her.

"Do you know what I'd do if I found a perfect match who was reluctant to bond? I'd lock him in the lab and brainwash him until he agreed to stay with me forever."

"You would not," he laughed, relaxing a little for the first time.

She smiled and shrugged but a familiar diabolic gleam glittered in her eyes. "I might. But Damon? He left the military and got a job at NCIS, so if you ever changed your mind, you'd get to keep your life exactly as it is. And he hasn't pushed you. Not once."

Tim started to protest that Damon leaving the military had nothing to do with him but she held up a hand to shut him up.  "Don't give me that stuff about him not being able to make it into the Marine Sentinel squad. He's managed to get the control he has after coming online without help, going feral, then meeting and losing his true Guide… Do you really think he couldn't have done it if he'd tried?"

Tim swallowed hard and something that had been hollow filled up inside him. Guilt and hope and a need he'd been trying to push aside surged free.

Abby's voice dropped, soft and understanding but determined to make him see. "Damon's not your father. And you're not your mother or his Guide. Rebelling against the Admiral after all this time is hurting you  _and_  your Sentinel way more than it's affecting your father."

He opened his mouth but words escaped him. Abby's eyes softened.

"You don't have to make any decisions, yet. But it's time you actually think about what you want, now. Not what a hurt, eighteen year boy wanted."

He nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. Thanks Abs. I needed to hear that." He paused, tentatively putting his hand on her shoulder. "Abs, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Her smile was genuine, if a little sad. "I know, Tim. And I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I'm just trying to make sure you think it through."

"I will. I promise. I have a lot to think about." He glanced around. "I should let you get back to work."

He opened the door and caught his breath when he saw Damon lounging against the wall. The Sentinel straightened up immediately but ducked his head.  

"Uh, hi. I'm sorry. I'm not stalking. I just… when you're nearby, I can't help monitoring… Your body… you ran… I just needed to know… Are you okay?"

Carefully closing the door behind him with a slightly shaking hand. "Uh, how much did you hear? Between me and Abby?"

Damon frowned and shook his head. "Nothing. The sound-proofing and white noise in there are Sentinel-proof. At least, for me."

"Oh, right." Tim was still rattled from the emotional roller coaster. What Abby said was still ringing his so he decided to chance honesty. "I, uh, I'm okay. Now. I just needed a minute.  I was jealous. I saw you, with your temp guide, and I was jealous."

Damon grinned flashed at the admission but it morphed into a frown almost immediately.

"Fuck." He scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck.  "I need a temp right now.  I'm not stable enough, on my own. They won't let me in the field without Allie, yet. I'll get rid of her as soon as I can, though.  Until then, I'll try harder to stay out of your way."

Something hot and tight wrapped around his heart and squeezed as Tim stared at the regretful and earnest Sentinel in front of him. Damon was nothing like his father. He didn't even seem to consider using the Guide's admission, his moment of weakness to push Tim into the bonding with him. Concern for Tim's feelings, at a risk to his own safety, though, was something neither the Guide nor the man could allow.

"No."

Damon looked up, surprised and stepped back. "No? You want—"

"I meant, no I don't want you to risk your safety because I can't make up my damn mind." He spoke softly but with self-disdaining vehemence. Then he tried to force a smile as he faced the surprised Sentinel. "Don't give up your Guide. Please."

"Okay," he nodded, looking a little confused. His hand stuttered in an aborted move toward the Guide, before he stopped and let it drop back by his side. "Tim?"

"I have to go." He was at the end of his emotional rope. He had no idea what he was doing or feeling. What he wanted or needed. So he moved quickly past and around the Sentinel, who let him go without a word, to Tim's relief.

#

Damon begged off lunch after the confusing conversation with Tim and headed back to his temporary quarters at the SGU building.  It had taken him a half an hour to convince his reluctant temp Guide that he was fine and really just needed some time by himself to digest what had had happened.

Now, half a day later, he was still pacing the living room of his suite. Still really had no idea how he should feel. There had been that moment of panic, when Tim's overwhelming anxiety had made him fear he was standing on the edge of going feral, again. The driving need to find his Guide, the relief, when Tim had emerged safe and calmer from the lab.

The moment of elation when Tim had admitted jealousy, admitted that he felt something for Damon. Followed by the piercing knowledge that he couldn't make it better for Tim. Not yet.  And the concern, the caring and the confusion of Tim insisting that he stay safe, before running away.

It had taken every ounce of control to watch his Guide disappear without following to sooth the roil of emotion he could smell and taste in the air. The sound of the lab door opening had taken him by surprise and startled him back from the edge of a zone as he senses strained to follow the last traces of Tim he could find.

Abby Sciuto stood there looking concerned and conflicted. "Give him a little more time."

Damon smiled, answering her with absolute honesty. "I will give him forever, if that's what he needs."

She smiled, dimples flashing. "Oh, Tim's not that slow. He'll figure it out soon."

Before he could ask what she meant, the door had closed.

Now, as he paced his suite, he couldn't help wondering if she was right.  Would Tim eventually come around?  He knew the Guide felt the pull, the possessiveness and the urge to care for his Sentinel. But was that enough?

A soft hum buzzed quietly from his door. The heavy shielding of the room made hearing a knock nearly impossible, even for Sentinel and a doorbell would be unbearable during a spike.  Damon sighed and geared himself to try, again, to convince Allie he really didn't need a meditation session.

When he opened the door, however, he froze. Tim, stood there eyes down and shifting from foot to foot. "Uh, hi. Um, are you busy?"

#

By the time Tim had returned to the bullpen, after taking the longest route possible back, Tony and Gibbs had left to act on the information Abby had found in the blood trace.  Ziva had been working diligently at her desk when he shuffled in with his head down. The pitying, sad look she'd given him made his skin itch with discomfort. Sometimes he really hated working with all-seeing, all-smelling Sentinels.

He hadn't had to endure it for long though, by the time Gibbs and Tony got back, their suspect had confessed to everything and wrapped up the case in a neat little bow from them. Gibbs had had a quiet conversation with a stone-faced Vance and when he returned, the team had the rest of the day off and a long-weekend to 'unwind and unstress.'  Every single eye had glanced at him with concern and silent encouragement before they left.

He hadn't gone home. He couldn't. Didn't want to be alone with his thoughts. But sitting in the cafe and walking around the park had done anything to shut out the doubt-filled thoughts.

Instead, Tim had spent the afternoon twisting and turning his life, his beliefs and his instincts, over and over in his mind. Abby was right. He'd been clinging to ancient hurts and presumptions, using them to keep a shield between him and the world.

So now he stood, here, nerves coiling in his gut as Damon stared at him in surprise, body filling the doorway and blocking Tim's view into the room beyond.

"Uh, hi. Um, are you busy?" He really wanted to ask if the temp Guide was there but he couldn't force the words out.

Damon, looking as confused as Tim felt, shook his head and stepped back. "Uh, no not really. Come in."

Tim took a few tentative steps inside the room's small sitting area, then paused looking between the chair and the couch. Unable to decide where to sit, he tucked his hands in his pocket and bit his lip.

The Sentinel carefully closed the door and asked, "Would you like anything? A drink or…?"

"No." Unable to fight back his curiosity any longer he tried to peer around the half-closed door of the darkened bedroom. "Are you alone?"

Damon looked confused, then smiled and shook his head.  "Yeah. I'm mostly stable now. I don't need Allie with me 24/7, just out in the field. Why don't you have a seat, Tim."

Then he solved the Guide's dilemma by dropping into the chair and leaving the couch for Tim.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." He perched on the edge, trying to catch up to his racing thoughts. Now that he was here, Tim really had no idea what to say.

Damon leaned back, a soft smile on his face and Tim could tell he was trying to put his guest at ease. But the Sentinel's hands were white knuckled on arms of his chair and Tim could sense the slight worry and fear hovering around him.

"My father is an asshole," Tim blurted out.

Damon blinked at the unexpected segue. Tim couldn't blame him, since it wasn't exactly where he planned to start.

"I, uh, heard," Damon said slowly, like a man walking on thin ice, afraid one wrong step would send him plunging into the water. "I also heard the Sentinels he tried to set you up with weren't much better."

Tim dropped his head into his hands and muffled the groans. He didn't bother to ask how Damon had heard that.  His team all knew bits and pieces. If they thought it was best for Tim, none of them would have hesitated to share the information. 

"Yeah. Yeah. Coming online pretty much sucked. Choosing to stay off the potential bonding list was both self-preservation and a fuck you to my father. I made the decision at eighteen and never really thought about it again."

His voice was rough with self-recrimination and he didn't even try to hide how disgusted he was with himself.

"Tim…"

"Don't, Damon."

He knew the Sentinel would try to let him off the hook and he didn't deserve it.

"I was just as selfish and self-absorbed as my father.  He never gave a damn about me, my mother or his Guide. Only his plans, his goals, his point of view matter. And I was acting just like him."

"No," Damon was out of the chair and on the floor kneeling next to Tim in a heartbeat. His hand reached out, hesitating before settling lightly on Tim's leg. "No, Tim, you were protecting yourself."

"From what? From actually thinking things through? I just reacted, knee-jerk adolescent rebellion. I let you suffer. Then got jealous when you had someone else to make things easier for you."

"I'm fine.  You have the right to not want this."

"Yeah. That's the thing."

Tim took a deep breath and looked down into worried hazel eyes. "I do want it. If I hadn't been running scared because of things that happened twelve years ago, I could have saved us both a lot of stress and worry."

Damon's face had gone slack. His mouth open and eyes flicking quickly over Tim's face.

"You want…" The Sentinel stopped, took a deep breath. "What do you want, Tim?"

He'd been hoping to avoid this part. Actually admitting he was wrong. That he was a selfish, self-absorb jerk who had made them both suffer unnecessarily for months.

"You. I want to bond with you. I want to be your Guide."

Before he even finished talking, he was wrapped in a crushing embrace, Damon's face buried against his neck, inhaling deep and murmuring soft words against his skin.  Several minutes past as they pushed closer, connecting in a way they'd both been craving. Tim regretted denying them this with every fiber of his being and his hand slip into the soft hair at Damon's neck. The Sentinel shudder under his touch and pressed even closer.

Eventually, the breathless need to just touch eased enough for Damon to loosen his grip and lean back.

"Are you sure? This isn't just a reaction to seeing me with Allie today? The territorial instincts? Because, I mean, I can…"

"No. It's not that. It was the catalyst but, honestly, it had more to do with Abby's lecture." He smiled and stroked the hair again, trying to ease the returning tension. "She pointed out that you aren't my father and I'm not his Guide. Even if you tried the crap he pulled, I wouldn't put up with it."

He leaned in again until their foreheads were touching and whispered centimeters from Damon's lips.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out that I've been waiting for you all this time."

Damon's answer was to close the final distance between them. A touch, a feather-light brush of mouths, hazel eyes still open, searching and waiting, like he was expecting Tim to change his mind again.

Tim hated that he'd put the doubt there. Hated that he'd tortured them both for months with his indecision. So he smiled against Damon's lips and shifted until their bodies pressed flush against each other. His hands slid into the dark hair, soft and silky and warm against his skin. The tips of his fingers rubbed against the back of Damon's neck until he felt the Sentinel shiver.

Then he gently bit the lips under his, tongue immediately darting out to soothe the sting and lick his way into Damon's mouth.

 His shields were gone, his mind wrapping itself in the welcoming warmth of the Sentinel. _His_ Sentinel.

In turn, Damon's hands were roving over his body, ducking under clothes, mapping skin and muscle. His breath hitched as he nuzzled into Tim's neck, inhaling scent while he centered all of his senses on Tim.

"Stay," Damon whispered against his throat. "Stay. Bond with me. Be my Guide."

Tim pressed closer, sealing their lips together, letting everything inside him slide open and invite Damon inside.

Their minds and bodies were already twining together, twisting and knotting in a way that made it hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Soon, their hearts and souls would follow and they'd be bound together, permanently.

For the first time in his life, that thought brought a flush of warmth and hope to Tim. 

Damon eased out of the kiss, his fingers stroking along Tim's neck and leaving electric shivers in their wake.

"Is that a yes?" Damon asked, his smile smug and knowing. The hazel eyes, however, were dark and tight and searching.

Damon needed to hear the answer, needed to know, without a doubt, that Tim was certain.

"Yes," Tim murmured the word, but also let it slide along the link already forming between them.

"Yes," he repeated, louder and more firm. "Yes, I'm staying. Yes, I'm going to bond with you." He slid his hand into the long, silky hair at the nape of Damon's neck and tugged a little until their foreheads rested against each other. "The sooner, the better. I'm your Guide. And you're _my_ Sentinel."

Damon groaned, his hands slid down to grip Tim's hips and their mouths crushed together in kiss full of hope and promise and connection that Tim knew was only the beginning. 


End file.
